


Wake Up

by aschicca



Category: Queer as Folk US
Genre: Lots of Angst, M/M, Post 513, post episode 122, pov fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-06
Updated: 2012-10-06
Packaged: 2017-11-15 18:43:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/530471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aschicca/pseuds/aschicca
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brian at the hospital while Justin is in a coma.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wake Up

I’m sitting here trying to remember when was the last time I cried. I don’t know. Brian Kinney doesn’t do tears, Brian Kinney cried all his tears when he was a kid… Brian Kinney one day decided to stop crying. And he probably stopped caring that day too. Brian Kinney… I… I don’t cry.

The tears flow freely tonight, though, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them. It’s almost like they found a way to escape from the stony cage I had built to keep them in, and now they’re having a party on my face. Some of them reach my chin, my neck, and the bloody silk scarf still around it. I try to force my hands to wipe them away, but no part of my body obeys my orders anymore. I can’t move. I can only sit here. And cry.

Michael’s hand caresses my arm, and he’s talking. I can’t hear a word of what he’s saying. It’s almost like he’s on the other side of the room and he’s whispering, or like he’s trying to talk underwater. I have no idea why he’s talking… what’s there to say, anyway? This is what happens when I forget myself, this is what happens when I think I can allow myself to care. Someone gets hurt; so hurt he might… No, I won’t say that word, I won’t _think_ that word. I can’t bear to consider that possibility.

Other voices penetrate the thick-wadded world I’m living in tonight, and I try with all my might to focus on them. To understand what they’re saying. 

“Where’s my son? Can I see him? They refused to tell me anything on the phone… please, can you help me?”

Mrs. Taylor. She’s here. They called her, of course. Was it Michael? Did I ask Michael to call Mrs. Taylor? I can’t remember, can’t think, can’t…

“Brian? What happened? Where is Justin?!”

I look at her; Mrs. Taylor’s face is full of panic, worry, and anger. I try to speak with her, I open my mouth. And no sounds escapes. I sit there, tears still dancing on my cheeks, with my mouth open and not a single sound coming out of my lips. I wonder if my ability to speak, hear and think is slowly leaving me; the tears are like a river, unstoppable. They leave me empty.

Mrs. Taylor is not looking at me anymore. Michael’s talking with her now, and a nurse is telling them she’ll soon bring a doctor to talk about Jus… about him. 

Some time passes and other people arrive. Debbie, loud voice and teary eyes. She tries to reach me and make me talk; soon, she gives up. Emmett and Ted, both of them at loss for words. Lindsay, eyes wide and trembling mouth. She sits beside me for a long time, and doesn’t say a word. She just holds my hand for so long that in the end I can’t feel my fingers anymore. But then, she gives up too, and goes home. To Gus. Before she leaves, though, she says something and, strangely enough, I can hear her loud and clear.

“Justin is strong, Brian. He’s the strongest person I know. He will wake up.”

*** 

He hasn’t. The lad hasn’t woken up. And it’s been almost two weeks now. I believed Lindsay when she told me he would wake up, and he didn’t. 

I’m sitting in this chair again – I always sit on the same chair when I’m here – almost like a ritual; and I’m alone. Mrs. Taylor has gone home, forced by Debbie to take a break from sitting beside her son’s bed holding his hand. Debbie is down to the cafeteria and Lindsay has yet to arrive. I’m the only one here, and he’s alone inside his room.

I’ve never been there. I had no reason to go in there. Wasn’t welcome, anyway. All I’m able to do is sit here, and wait. 

But suddenly, almost like my body is on autopilot, I leave my chair behind and walk towards the door. I watch my hand on the handle, I hear the sound of the door shutting behind me, I watch my own feet walking towards the bed, I feel my body sitting on the chair placed beside the bed, and to my surprise, I’m inside the room. With him.

I look at him. He’s sleeping. Just sleeping. I wonder what would happen if I just shook him and told him to wake up. Should I try? I glance at my hands, expecting to see them moving of their own volition again, and I’m shocked to see them gripping the chair so tight the knuckles are white.

I won’t touch him, I can’t. Don’t have the right to, never had, never will again. But maybe I can try to talk…?

“Just… uh… hey. Can you…” What? What do I want to ask him? Can you hear me? Can you wake up? _Can you forgive me?_ Maybe I should just go, this isn’t helping. My body doesn’t move, my hands grip the chair even tighter, my voice continues. Traitors, all of them.

“Can you hear me? They say people in a coma can hear everything around them. If it’s true, then you must be tired of Debbie’s chattering by now. Your Mom doesn’t talk much, your sister mostly sits on your bed and calls your name. But Debbie, no one can stop Debbie. Maybe you should wake up next time she starts blabbering and tell her to shut the fuck up? She’d love that. Her voice raising you from the dea… uh… from your sleep.” 

Or maybe you should just wake up now and stop _me_ from blabbering like an idiot. I sigh. “Fuck, I hate this. I’ll just go now, ‘k? Shouldn’t have come in to begin with, this is not my place. Never was. I should have known. Should have remembered… never care, never allow someone to get too close, never allow _yourself_ to get too close. Not worth it, never worth it. You should have ran away, kid, the very first night. Ran away to never look back. And now you will, won’t you? If… _when_ you’ll wake up, you’ll finally understand and run away from me. Far away, get a life, a real life… not for me, never for me… I…” I can’t go on anymore, my throat is closing and I can’t believe those tears are here once again.

I wipe them away, not even realizing I suddenly seem to have regained control over my hands, and I stand up, ready to go back to my own chair, the one outside the room, the one from where I can’t disturb him. I am only able to take a few steps before my body once again betrays me, and I stop. My hands grip the bars at the end of his bed, and I look at him again.

“Justin,” for the first time since yelling his name in the parking lot, I’m able to say it again. “I wish you would wake up, now. Everyone’s worried about you. Your Mom can’t stop crying. You shouldn’t want to make her cry, should you? So, wake up, ok? For her. And your little sister. And Debbie, and the boys. They all care about you. I… care about you. So, wake up now. Just wake up.”

One of my hands releases the bars of his bed and I touch his foot. It’s a light touch and it doesn’t last for more than a second, but somehow it makes my tears stop and gives me the strength to go back to the chair outside.

*** 

I must have fallen asleep. Voices, loud voices, startle me and I blink in confusion. I don’t understand what they’re saying, I don’t understand why people are laughing and hugging, and why Debbie’s yelling. I don’t…

“Brian!! Justin’s awake! He’s awake!!” Debbie pulls me from my chair and hugs me tight.

I allow her to hold me for a brief moment, then I shrug out of her embrace. I throw a glance to Justin’s room; the door’s open and I can see Mrs. Taylor holding Justin’s hand and looking into his eyes. His _open_ eyes. 

He’s awake. And my time here is finished.

I turn around and walk out of the hospital, ignoring Debbie calling my name. I can’t stay there anymore. He doesn’t need me there and I don’t want to have to look into his eyes and find the understanding. Now he knows, he knows what loving me brings. 

There’s nothing there for me anymore. In a moment of clarity I realize that Justin has woken up for the world but not for me. I can’t visit him when he’s awake, I can’t have his eyes look into mine. The next time I’ll see him, he’ll be asleep again. And I’ll still be once again sitting alone in what has become my chair.

*** 

_ Five years later. _

“So, I had this dream last night.”

“Dream?” I ask, “Was it a sexy one? Like the one where you were the virgin sailor and I was your Captain? I had fun with that one.”

Justin laughs, and hits my arm. “No, nothing like that one!” He keeps laughing at my “Pity…”, then starts again. “I think it was more a memory than a dream. I could hear you talking with me but I couldn’t wake up. It was frustrating.”

“What was I telling you?”

“Something about my Mom and my sister being worried for me, and something about Debbie’s incessant chattering. Oh, and then you said you cared about me and that I needed to wake up. Weird, uh?”

I desperately try to say something, to laugh at his dream, to tell him that yes, it’s a weird dream and he must be fucked up in the head, but… suddenly my body decides it’s once again time to betray me and I can’t do anything. I just look at him… and he sees something in my eyes, something I didn’t want him to see.

“That wasn’t a dream, Brian, was it? I was right, it was a memory. It happened, it really happened. You talked to me while I was in a coma, didn’t you?”

His hands grip my arms and his eyes ask me to speak, to tell him everything, and I can’t. I can’t even nod. I can’t move. 

And then, Justin proves once again to be able to understand me even if I don’t say a single word. “You did; you spoke with me. You were there. But why didn’t you come to see me once I did as you asked and woke up? Why did you run away? Why did… wait… _run away_ … you…” Justin frowns, concentrating on remembering, and then he looks up at me, a new light shining in his eyes. “You are worth it, Brian. You are worth everything for me. I could never run away from you. You _are_ worth it.”

“I’m not,” I hear myself saying and I almost jump at the sound of my own voice. “I’m not worth having your head bashed in,” I raise my hand to stop him from jumping at my defense and repeating again how ‘it wasn’t my fault’. “I’m not worth all the pain and the bullshit I made you suffer. But I’m a selfish bastard and I’m glad you won’t run away. I’m glad you never gave up, I’m glad you think I’m worth it. And I’m glad you heard me when you were… uh… asleep.”

Justin smiles, forcing me to smile back because I just can’t resist _that_ smile, and then clings to me. I hold him tight and hide my face in his neck, breathing him in. 

I’m surprised to realize that the tears are flowing again, and I’m not doing anything to hold them in, or to wipe them away. But this time I don’t need to.

This time Justin’s hands are there to wipe my tears away, and Justin’s tongue is there to trace the wet trails they left behind. 

I still think I don’t deserve any of this. But I’ll take it anyway.


End file.
